Damian despised galas. The dancing, the talking, the pictures. It was awful. Too bright or too dark, too loud or not loud enough, too many smells too many people. It was overwhelming for him. But as the Wayne heir, he was required to make appearances. His father would force him to talk to the other socialites and elites of Gotham, make him talk to girls who threw themselves at him. He hated them especially.

Their disgustedly sweet voices, their flirting touches, the batting of their eyelashes at him. The God awful amounts of makeup they'd plaster onto their faces. The fact they believed they were entitled to touch him, to be near him made him the most angry.

So the next gala, Damian had invited you to go with him. You were his best friend, and he trusted you to not embarrass him in public. But he also knew you could handle yourself with the spoiled rich crowd, and paparazzi if they decided to show. He'd gifted you a dress to wear, matching his own suit, after you had reluctantly agreed.

With you there, he was able to hide under the excuse of getting back to you. His father realized the tactic quickly, but didn't mention it and let Damian be with you for tonight. You had been amazed by the extravagant ballroom immediately, but Damian had shut you down. He cited, "I don't dance," as a reason to avoid the ballroom.

However, that did not deter you. When Damian left your side to get something to drink, you immediately made your way through the grand halls to where you thought the dance floor was. You were terribly wrong, and now terribly lost.

Damian noticed your absence and quickly found you, though he was not pleased when he did. "Are you stupid? Why would you leave?" He hissed, tugging you back to the room that held the buffet. "Not only is it dangerous, but you left me!"

He pulled you into a semi-secluded corner, holding your shoulders as he glared down at you. "Do. Not. Leave. My. Side. Understand?"